Unaccounted For
by billiespiper
Summary: Here are the rules. brittany


Contrary to popular belief, Santana Lopez likes rules. She loves the careful order and precision of them, the ability to keep things calm and level. Her life is a big chaotic mess, and having rules in it helps take away some of the noise.

Santana remembers eighth grade for many reasons. She grows boobs, sets her sight on the McKinley High Cheerio squad, and finally has a place at the middle of the lunch table. But more importantly, it's the year that she starts inventing rules to distract herself.

She can pinpoint exactly where it starts. It takes only a day for her to realize how rules make her _happy_. The control they give her, the way everything seems to fall into place with a sentence.

There's a new girl at school. A blonde girl, all legs and blue eyes. She smells like vanilla, obviously artificial but seemingly natural on her. If she was nervous about coming to a brand new place for one year before moving on to high school, she didn't show it. She wears an annoyingly pink sweater, with a white cat printed onto it. Santana wants to cringe, but it's strangely endearing. Almost cute. She raises her hand in every class, despite the fact that she doesn't know what's being said to her, or how to answer it. The enthusiasm keeps up, Santana realizes, after sharing almost three periods with her. Every question asked is accompanied with a squeal of excitement from the blonde girl, long fingers waving in the air.

(Again, Santana wants desperately to laugh at the girl. To taunt her or ridicule her. But for some reason, unbeknownst to her, she doesn't.)

So the girl's name is Brittany. Fitting, it seems, for someone with bright pink lips and stupid enthusiasm. Santana sets her aside as a sterotype- a bubbly, dumb cheerleader who will marry a football player, and decides derisively not to think about her any more.

This, it's proven, is slightly harder than it seems.

Brittany shares almost every class with her, bar Santana's advanced Math and Spanish courses. She's there all the time, with her bright orange notebook and that pink light up pen with the feather on the end.

And Santana doesn't even know why she's ignoring her. She insists that it's her irritatingly bright voice, or maybe the way she doesn't have to fight for boy's attention. But part of her thinks it has more to do with the warmth that she can't stop spreading across her chest whenever she talks. It's something she doesn't completely understand. Foreign, unfamiliar. Santana's barely felt this way about a _boy_ before, let alone a bright eyed girl.

.

Brittany sits by her in the library one lunch period. Santana has her history textbook out in front of her, pretending to study the causes of the Cold War, but instead letting her eyes slip over the black and white pictures. She had told her friends that she needed to study for a huge test, when in reality, she had crammed the night before. However, it's nice sometimes to take a break from irrelevant gossip and the neverending discussion of cute boys that Santana can't even _pretend_ to be interested in.

Biting at the eraser end of her pencil (a horrible habit), Santana hardly notices someone sidling in beside her. She does, however, hear the telltale click of Brittany's pen, and the way she pops her disgustingly sweet smelling gum. Swallowing a groan, Santana's grip on her pencil tightens. Brittany smells intoxicating, to a point. It's hard for Santana to tell whether it's in a good or bad way.

"Your name's Santana, right?" her voice is different than Santana expected. Although she speaks liltingly and there is some kind of vague drag to it, there's no cloud of ditz around it.

"Yeah." she doesn't venture further, just stares at the glossy pages of her textbook.

"I'm Brittany," she waits for Santana to cut in and say something, but doesn't seem fazed when she doesn't. "I moved here from Virginia. It was pretty boring there, but it's pretty boring here, too. No offense. I like your bowling alley, though. Kind of weird playing by myself, but sometimes my sister joins me. Do you like bowling?"

Brittany takes Santana's silence as a definitive _no_.

"That's okay. It's not for everyone. We all have something we don't like. For me, it's grocery shopping. It sucks when I have to eat Lucky Charms without milk, but it's okay for the most part." More silence. Deafening silence. "So what _do _you like?"

"Silence." she snipes quickly, hoping Brittany will get the hint. "I like quiet. Also, dogs. I'm not a cat person."

Brittany draws in a quick breath, eyebrows coming together in confusion. Santana's good at that, knowing exactly what button to push to cut somebody down, even in the smallest way.

"How can you not like cats? That's like, impossible. Sometimes, when Lord Tubbington eats all my kitty treats or sits on my computer, I get mad. But still, cats are awesome."

Santana balks slightly at the indirect reference to Brittany eating cat treats, but also at her ability to switch moods so quickly.

"Maybe I could show you my cat sometime. A lot of boys talk to me here, but no girls so far. I like guys, they're nice. But I can't bake or go to the mall for manicures with them. Also, I think they might be just interested in kissing me, but I'm pretty sure they have hepatitis."

"You mean herpes?" Santana wrinkles her nose slightly, because how on _Earth_ could someone confuse herpes and hepatitis? Then she realizes that this is the girl who stares at teachers blankly when they call on her, despite her eager hand in the air.

"Yeah, that's what I _said_."

Santana is about to reply with a quick insult, but then realizes that would mean she was having a _conversation_ with Brittany.

"Look, is there something you want? I know you probably don't care about school, but I kind of want to get out of this shit hole."

Brittany bites at the edge of her lips, bringing her hands over the table and wringing them together with a slight tick of nervousy. Santana now notices her fingernails. Dark blue. An extreme difference from the jubilant pink of the rest of her outfit. Her nails are long, like everything else on her body. Hair, legs, eyelashes. Quickly nipping at her tongue to stop herself from thinking about Brittany, Santana taps her own bitten down nails against the table.

"I was just kind of wondering if you wanted to… come over to my house sometime. This weekend or something? My mom can pick us up for school, and we can go see a movie at the mall or maybe have dinner at that Italian place, Breadbasket or something, and after-"

"No." Santana flips her textbook closed, giving up on studying. Brittany blinks at her, bottom lip pushed out slightly.

"Sorry?"

"No. I don't want to hang out with you," she pushes away from the table, grabbing her backpack in one hand and her book in the other. "And it's called _Breadstix_."

And Santana just _hates_ to feel bad for this annoying, bubbly girl, but…

_Rule: If it hurts, it isn't worth it._

.

She meets up with Puck behind the school after eighth period, carrying two brightly colored slushies. She hands his off to him (he's always liked cherry, while Santana prefers grape), and accepts the cigarette he holds out to her.

Puck lights his, blowing a ring of smoke (something he's unnecessarily proud of) crudely in her face.

"Sup, Santana?" she shrugs, taking a deep sip of slushy. It's icy and cold, and she can feel it slip past her tongue. Puck takes another drag of his cigarette.

And yes, they're in eighth grade. But Santana's mother had left a pack lying around at the beginning of the year. So they tried it, and they liked it. _Whatever. _

The thing is, even though they pretend to be big badasses all the time, Puck still cries everytime they watch The Notebook together. And that's why he's her best friend. Her bottom bitch.

"What do you know about Brittany Pierce?" Her question comes kind of out of the blue, and Puck studies her for a moment before taking the cigarette out of his mouth to answer.

"Who?"

"Brittany. New girl?" He still has that kind of vacant look in his eyes, so Santana clarifies. "The blonde with some… _great_ legs?"

At this, Puck makes a noise of acknowledgement. He tilts his head at her before ducking down to lick a stray trail of cherry slushy from the rim of his cup.

"_Ah. _Yes. All I know about her is that she didn't wanna take a trip to the Puckadily Circus."

Santana can't help the snort that bubbles up. In part because of yet another ridiculous nickname, and in part for whatever reason, because Brittany rejected him.

"Do you even know what the _Picadily _Circus is?"

Puck fakes offense, feathering his hand against his chest with wide eyes.

"Course I do. Like the Ringling Brothers, right?"

"It's a _train stop_ in England. I hope this was the first time you've used that one, loser."

He mumbles a quiet _whatever_, but Santana sees the small spread of a blush across his cheeks. She bumps his chin with a crooked knuckle, forcing him to look at her.

"Has anyone ever told you how _lame_ you are, Puck?"

Her voice holds no venom, but he looks up at her with those fucking doe eyes again.

"All the time, Titspez."

.

So apparently Puck wasn't the only guy Brittany rejected. It doesn't come as a surprise to Santana- although she's confused about how to feel about her, she can't deny that the girl is beautiful. And Santana wouldn't even _give_ a shit about Brittany and her following of horny teenage boys, but it was so glaringly obvious.

Brittany had started taking to sitting at the lunch table in front of Santana. Most times alone, but sometimes with a random boy next to her. She never makes an effort to converse with them, but doesn't explicitly tell them to leave either.

Today, the guy sitting next to her is a renowned douchebag. His name is Christian, and he's one of those guys that wears hats backwards, shops at Polo and favors Axe cologne.

Santana can hear their conversation clearly from her position- _not _that she's eaves dropping. _Not_ that she even cares. At all. But Christian is kind of an asshole, and she does want to see him get turned down.

Christian sits close to Brittany, and her nose wrinkles with distaste as he slides in. Santana doesn't blame her. She's a table away, and she can smell the strong cologne wafting off him.

"Hey, babes. I'm Christian, but you probably knew that."

His attempt to make his voice sultry and low result in almost a growl. Santana has to bite down on her tongue to stifle the laugh that's threatening it's way up and over her lips.

Brittany, in all her wide eyed curiosity, blinks at Christian.

"No, actually. I didn't know that. Can you teach me how to do Hail Maries?" Christian cocks his head at her, mouth falling open slightly.

"I- Um, not. I'm actually an atheist, but my _name_ is Christian."

Suddenly very serious, Brittany leans in.

"Don't you think that's kind of racist?"

Christian lets out this nervous laugh, as if he's trying to decide whether or not this girl is actually _serious_. Unfortunately for him, she is.

"Anyway. I was wondering if you wanna come with me to a party this weekend?" He's regained his cocky composure, brushing off the mild confusion at Brittany's misinterpretation of his words.

The girl in question blinks twice, smiles sweetly, and lays a hand on top of his.

"No, thank you." And in this moment, Christian looks so fucking _comical._ It's as if Santana could paste him into an Archie strip, with his jaw hanging loose and slack in that way.

"What? Why?" Christian's stuttering, flushing mildly as a few snickers illicit themselves from the surrounding eighth graders.

"My cat has the flu, and I'm supposed to give her antibiotics and soup every three hours. I'd really love to go to a party with you, but I can't."

Puck, from his position next to Santana, laughs into his hand. She nudges him, _hard_, but has to refrain from cracking up as well.

Christian stands abruptly, knocking over Brittany's soda in the proccess. Santana can tell that he's trying to cover up his wounded pride with a sneer, but the way his cheeks are still bright red betray him.

"Whatever. I guess it's true what people said about you. _Stupid whore_."

The lunch room falls quiet. It's almost painful, the way Santana can hear literally everything. She can hear the click of Christian's expensive leather shoes as he walks away, the steady drip of Brittany's soda down the side of the table, and most importantly, Santana can hear the small sniff that comes before a soft mangled sob.

She can feel that second hand embarrassment, the way everyone seems to stare at Brittany with her blonde hair getting caught in the wetness on her face. But more than that, Santana feels almost… _bad_ for Brittany. She's never held this type of empathy for anyone before, but she also knows how horrible it feels to be belittled to a sexual object. Obviously, at eighth grade, she's never had sex before. But there has always been a steady flow of rumors. The looks of disgust filtering off parents and teachers. The split second of shame hanging in her own father's eyes as he puts the phone down.

So maybe that's what spurs her to get up from her spot at the table and walk very deliberately over to Brittany's. Except when Brittany looks up at Santana, she doesn't offer her a tissue or a hand on the shoulder.

She sits next to the sniveling girl and digs deep in her bag, drawing out a pair of sunglasses. Brittany watches in mild confusion, wiping at her red nose with the edge of her sleeve.

Santana hands Brittany the glasses, letting her fingers linger against the recipient's skin.

"Here, put these on." The lunchroom is still relatively quiet, but some dim chatter has begun to fill it. Brittany slides the sunglasses on, hooking them behind her ears carefully. Santana lets herself admire the way they look only for a second.

"Rule number one." Her voice is daunting, elusive almost. "Never let them see you cry."

.

**Author's Note: hi so this is going to be a multichapter fic and i hope you like it and i'm really nervous ok asdfghjk. **

**also, the end was obviously inspired by "liv" from season five of skins. the way liv talked about the anecdote with mini was really beautiful and another example of flawless skins writing, so i decided to incorporate it. **

**enjoy**


End file.
